No mortal flame was e'er fo cruel

As this, which thus furvives the fuel!

To a LADY, from whom he receiv'd a Silver Pen.

M The filver favor which you gave,

ADAM! intending to have try'd

In ink the fhining point I dy'd,

And drench'd it in the fable wave: When, griev'd to be fo foully stain’d, On you it thus to me complain'd.

Suppofe you had deferv'd to take
From her fair hand so fair a boon;
Yet how deferved I to make

So ill a change; who ever won
Immortal praise for what I wrote,
Inftructed by her noble thought?

I, that expreffed her commands

To mighty Lords, and Princely dames, Always most welcome to their hands;

"

1

Proud that I would record their names; Muft now be taught an humble style, Some meaner beauty to beguile!

So I, the wronged pen to please,
Make it my humble thanks exprefs
Unto your Ladyship, in Thefe:
And now 'tis forced to confefs,

That your great felf did ne'er indite,
Nor that, to one more noble, `write.

To CHLOR IS.

HLORIS! fince first our calm of

CH

peace Was frighted hence, this good we find,

Your favors with your fears increase,
And growing mischiefs make you kind.

So the fair tree, which ftill preferves
Her fruit, and ftate, while no wind blows,
In ftorms from that uprightnefs fwerves;
And the glad earth about her ftrows
With treasure, from her yielding boughs.

SONG.

HILE I liften to thy voice,

WHILE

CHLORIS! I feel my life decay:

That pow'rful noife

Calls my fleeting foul away.

Oh! fupprefs that magic found,

Which destroys without a wound.

Peace, CHLORIS, peace! or finging die; That together you, and I,

To heav'n may go:

For all we know

Of what the Blessed do above

Is, that they fing, and that they love

Of Loving at First Sight.

Nor the new fea explore,

OT caring to observe the wind,

Or

Snatch'd from my self, how far behind
Already I behold the fhore!

May not a thousand dangers fleep
In the smooth bofom of this Deep?
No: 'tis fo rocklefs, and fo clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Pav'd all with precious things; not torn
From fhip-wreck'd veffels, but there born.

Sweetness, truth, and ev'ry grace
Which time, and ufe, are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read diftinctly in her face.

Some other nymphs, with colors faint,
And pencil flow, may CUPID paint,
And a weak heart in time deftroy;
She has a stamp, and prints the Boy:
Can, with a fingle look, inflame
The coldest breast, the rudeft tame.

The Self- Banifh'd.

T is not that I love you lefs,

Than when before your feet I lay:

Bu

But, to prevent the fad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away.

In vain, alas! for every thing,

Which I have known belong to you, Your form does to my fancy bring,

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

Who in the spring, from the new fun,
Already has a fever got,

Too late begins thofe fhafts to fhun,

Which PHOEBUS thro' his veins has fhot:

Too late he would the pain affwage,
And to thick fhadows does retire :
About with him he bears the rage,
And in his tainted blood the fire.

But vow'd I have, and never muft Your banish'd fervant trouble you: mistrust

For if I break, you may

The vow I made

to love you too.

SONG.

Go, lovely rofe!

Tell her that waftes her time, and me,

That now he knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How fweet, and fair, she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And fhuns to have her graces fpy'd,
That hadft thou sprung

In deferts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy'd.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retir'd:

Bid her come forth,

Suffer her felf to be defir'd,

And not blush fo to be admir'd.

Then die! that the

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:

How small a part of time they share,
That are fo wond'rous fweet, and fair!

THYRSIS. GALATE A,

THYRS IS.

S lately I on filver THAMES did ride,
Sad GALATEA on the bank I spy'd:

Such was her look as forrow taught to fhine;
And thus fhe grac'd me with a voice divine.

GALAT E A.

You that can tune your founding ftrings fo well, Of Ladies' beauties, and of love to tell,

lute report

The jufteft grief that ever touch'd the Court.

THYR